Annie

Despite a hundred good reasons for despair, Annie keeps her heart open to the possibility that something good is just about to happen. She’s a persistent advocate for a son who makes dangerous choices and sometimes lives in his car. She’s her sister’s best friend, and their mom relies on Annie for company and care. Right now she has a man who treats her well and doesn’t drink heavily or stir up drama; sometimes he gets home before she does and cooks for her. It’s so good she has to pinch herself. Whatever happens, she shows up at her job and wields her scissors with artistry and imagination. She’s nervy, sometimes outrageous, a little on-edge when the phone rings. Today she asked me, “How are we going to make it through the next four years?” I shook my head darkly. “Some won’t make it,” she concluded. “They’ll have some pre-existing condition like I do, covered by Obamacare and erased as soon as this joker takes over. They won’t be able to get birth control pills and then if they get pregnant, what? ” 

Annie won’t be at the women’s march on Saturday because she’ll be at work. I’ll march for her, and for Marlana, who’s a nurse on duty Saturday, and for Heidi, who works Saturdays at the library. Many women I know are working as many hours as they can, but if American health care goes away, broken though it has always been, suddenly their lives could become impossible.